


Bunker Christmas

by bluest_skies



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Season 9 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 23:35:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8943898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluest_skies/pseuds/bluest_skies
Summary: The Mark is gone, Cas is human, and Dean is having Christmas at the bunker no matter what.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I originally sent this in parts to people in Christmas cards a couple of years ago with the intention of posting it all along with the ending and....didn't. 
> 
> So I figured I would this year. It's just a thing I jotted down. Nothing special.

One

They could all just fuck off with the crazy looks they were giving him.

“How about instead of looking at me like I have two heads, you two could, I don't know, give me a hand,” Dean groused. He'd been struggling to get the enormous cedar tree through the bunker door and down the stairs for about ten minutes while Sam and Cas stood there staring, as if Dean actually _turned_ into a tree and burst through the front door.

“Is it customary to bring trees into the house?” Cas half-whispered to Sam. “Or is this some strange lingering side-effect of the Mark?”

Sam barked out a laugh. “No, Cas. It's three weeks until Christmas.” He gestured vaguely in Dean's direction. “It's a Christmas tree. And apparently this is a thing we're going to be doing this year.”

“You're damn right we are,” Dean said from behind a mass of tree limbs. “So stop yapping and come help me.”

After two hours, several close calls of the tree crashing down on top of all of them, and Dean repeatedly threatening to beat Sam unconscious with a tree limb, they finally had it upright (and stable).

“So what do we do now?” Cas looked from the tree to Dean, brow wrinkled.

“Decorations.”

“Do we even have anything?” Sam interjected. “We've catalogued a ton of stuff in this bunker. I don't recall seeing a Christmas box.”

Dean shrugged. “We'll buy some.” He grinned and snapped his fingers. “Or make some! We've got popcorn.” Dean took off towards the kitchen. “Cas, come help me. Sam, get the needle and thread from the first aid kit!”

 

Two

It wasn't half-bad, Dean thought a few days later as he stood in front of the now decorated tree. They'd made popcorn garland and he'd gone into town to buy some lights. Cas had thrown as his energy towards decorating, making ornaments from various things around the bunker, and Dean had started to stop by the tree at the end of night to see what Cas had added.

He circled the tree several times, almost resigning himself to the fact that there was nothing new, when he spotted it. It was in the back, practically out of sight.

They were feathers, four of them, medium sized and glossy black except when the light hit them a certain way, giving them a blue sheen. They were fanned out and tied together with a strip of flannel that Dean was fairly certain belonged to one of his old shirts.

Dean reached out, fingers brushing along the ornament, the contact pulling at something buried deep inside of him, and he gasped at the sensation of his skin feeling as if it were on fire while simultaneously being frozen in place.

“Dean? Is everything alright?”

He turned to see Cas standing in the doorway wearing sweatpants and one of Dean's ratty t-shirts, hair a riotous mess. He was still recovering from the total loss of stolen grace and yet again readjusting to being human. No longer Castiel, Angel of the Lord. Just...Cas.

Dean plucked the ornament from its spot. “Did you make this?”

Cas slowly made his way into the room. “I did.”

Dean nodded. “Crow feathers?”

“No, those are mine.”

Somehow Dean knew that. That pull, it felt so familiar. It had been years since he'd felt it – Cas' grace.

“Do...” Cas cleared his throat. “Do you not like it? I can throw it away.”

Dean looked at him, startled. Throw it away? Fuck that. He'd thrown Cas away once before, kicking him out of the bunker with virtually nothing. Never again.

“What? No, Cas. I don't want to throw it away." _I love it_ , he thought before adding, "But it should be where it can be seen.” Dean dragged a chair over, balancing himself on it, and nestled the bunch of feathers at the top, arranging the lights so it hit them just right, creating that blue sheen that he realized matched Cas' eyes. He looked down. “How's that?”

“But isn't that where the Angel goes?” Cas asked quietly.

Dean smiled. “Yes it is.”

 

Three

It was around four in the morning by the time Dean and Sam got back to the bunker from a local salt and burn, Cas opting to stay behind. Sam immediately headed in the direction of his room, bleary eyed, with a “goodnight” mangled by a huge yawn.

Dean, on the other hand, had caught a second wind on the way home and after grabbing a few sloppily wrapped gifts from his bedroom, headed towards the room they had turned into the den, which currently housed their Christmas tree.

Cas was sitting slumped on the couch, mouth slightly parted in sleep, and Dean watched him for a few moments. He had caught Cas several times over the past week standing in front of the tree, staring up at that little bundle of feathers. Sam had never said anything about it, just giving a nod of approval and a clap on Cas' shoulder.

Dean quietly placed the gifts among the growing pile and gave Cas' arm a light shake. “Hey, Cas.” Cas blinked up at him sleepily. “We're back. Why don't you go to bed, yeah?”

Cas groaned, stretching out his body, spine popping from being in one position for so long. “I'm ok,” he said around a yawn. “I didn't mean to fall asleep. Everything go well?”

Dean flopped down onto the couch. “Yeah, just took a while to find out where the bones were. But it went smooth. For once,” he laughed. They both sat quietly, the room dark except for the winking Christmas lights casting shadows around the room. “Hey Cas. Can I ask you something?”

Cas brow furrowed. “Of course, Dean. You can ask me anything.”

As he sat there looking at Cas, hair sticking up every which way, marks from the couch pillows on the side of his face... 'Would you kiss me?' he thought. That's what he really wanted to say. Instead he gestured towards the tree. “Your feathers. How did you get them?”

Cas glanced up at the bundle of feathers, a slight smile curving his lips. “Hannah.”

 

Four

Hannah. The angel who handed Cas an angel blade and pleaded with him to kill Dean. The thought caused something ugly to bloom in the center of Dean's chest and his first instinct was to drown it with whiskey.

“Why did she have them?” he asked instead, actively avoiding looking at Cas in case the answer was something he did not want to hear.

“She found them actually. In Metatron's office. I guess when he stole my grace for his spell, he removed some of those too. As a souvenir I suppose.”

“Friggin' asshat,” Dean muttered. He still owed Metatron an angel blade to the gut for all the shit he caused.

“Yes,” Cas agreed. “Anyway, before she returned to Heaven, she gave them to me. Though I'm not sure why I kept them.”

Dean glanced over. A frown marred Cas' features. “What do you mean?”

“They're just a reminder of what I used to be, what I used to be able to do. What I've lost.” Cas shrugged, as if it were no big thing.

“Could they...Is it possible they could restore your grace? Make you an angel again?” As much as he feared that they could, that Cas might leave him again, he hated the thought of Cas being stuck here, miserable.

“No, Dean. The grace they hold, it's just residual. They have no power. I'm surprised I can feel it at all.”

“I can feel it too,” Dean said quietly.

Cas looked at him, surprised. “Can you?”

“Yeah. It's like this...I don't know how to explain it. Like something pulling at me, right here.” He touched the center of his chest. “When I touch those,” he said, gesturing towards the feathered ornament on the tree. “I feel...peace.”

“Makes sense you could feel something. I did remake you after all.”

Dean didn’t think about that too often, how Cas had seen him at one of the lowest points of his life, had put him back together. And with everything they’d been through, still thought of him as a good man, worthy of trust, of being saved.

Cas shifted as if he were about to get up and Dean’s hand flew to Cas’ forearm. Cas looked at him, confused at first, his face softening when Dean asked him, “Sit with me for a while?"

"Of course, Dean."


End file.
